


Le Seulment Amour Est L'Amour Vrai

by TabbyCat33098



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bars, Falling In Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:29:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TabbyCat33098/pseuds/TabbyCat33098
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was only about sex. At least, until it wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Le Seulment Amour Est L'Amour Vrai

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I lied. There's happier fics coming after this one though, I checked. In this fic, we see another example of how Tabby's muse hates sticking to a plot. This was going to be a light, happy, much more M-rated fic. But then it didn't turn out that way. In any case, it's still probably my best fic, so. Reviews are much loved. Happy reading! :)

In the beginning, it was only about sex.

They met at a club, late at night when Ichigo was trying to escape the memories. It was the one year anniversary of Renji having broken up with him. He had loved the red-headed bastard, but Renji had claimed that Ichigo was too young and inexperienced for him. A year later, when Ichigo was still mourning what he had lost, Keigo and Mizuiro had managed to drag him along with them as they went clubbing. And after a few drinks, Ichigo found himself loosening up and enjoying the night, and slowly forgetting Renji. He would never be able to let go, not of his first love, but he could find closure.

And after all, what would Masaki say if she knew he was still beating himself up over one stupid redhead? What had her last words been to him? "Never deny yourself happiness, my little berry. Live as though each day is your last." Ironic, Ichigo thought, considering what had happened. How could she have known that that was her last day? That Ichigo would drop the rose he wanted to give her, would run back into the street to get it, would be pushed out of the way as Masaki tried to save him from the oncoming car.

But now wasn't the time for those bad memories. He was here to escape the haunting thoughts, not invite them in.

Ichigo had felt the pull of the music, begging him to dance, drawing him to the mass of writhing bodies that undulated in the light. He had worked his way into their ranks, swaying and twisting and moving his hips with the crowd, not caring who saw him anymore. He had felt the tall, lean man press up against his gyrating body, had leaned back into the warmth that surrounded him.

They had escaped into a back room within minutes. Clothes were ripped off, hands were everywhere, moans could be heard from the hallway. There was no tenderness, no caresses, no slow kisses. Simply passion, unfiltered, unadulterated passion. And as they lay together on the bed, panting, neither deluded himself into thinking this was more than a one-night stand.

But Ichigo was back a week later, avoiding his father and the fight that was sure to follow. He had downed a few drinks, then quickly merged into the crowd on the dance floor. He felt that same body press against him, that same man who had used him so thoroughly the week before. "My place," the man had whispered, and Ichigo had happily followed.

The sex had been slower this time, more gentle. Much more time had been spent in exploring the other's body, finding out what made each of them gasp out in pleasure. When the blond had finally pushed into Ichigo, the strokes were calm and languid, patient, trying to draw out the pleasure for eternity. And when they had both come, they curled up together, Ichigo's head on his chest and his arms around Ichigo's torso. And finally, stupidly, Ichigo thought to ask the man's name.

"Kisuke Urahara," the man had replied in that deep, sultry tone.

"Ichigo Kurosaki," Ichigo had told him, before drifting off to sleep. For the first time in months, his dreams weren't haunted by the ghosts of his past.

They came to a casual agreement. They would meet up every now and then, at that same club, and go to Kisuke's small apartment. Ichigo would usually spend the night, then leave early the next morning. It became a routine of theirs, and Ichigo found himself happily settling into it. They continued for weeks that way, and both men knew that it was never going to be a deeper relationship. Ichigo, for one, knew that Kisuke was far too old for him, far too beautiful, far too perfect. A man as amazing as Kisuke would never want someone as stupid, young, or ugly as Ichigo.

But then Ichigo found himself wondering about the blonde. He began to ask questions as they lay there, half asleep. He would play with Kisuke's hair, or spoon around Kisuke's back, or curl into Kisuke's chest, and ask him about his life. How old was he? What did he do for a living? Did he have any family? Why wasn't he settled down? Why had he come to that club that first night? What was he looking for in a partner? Would he ever want to adopt, if he found the right man? Or would he prefer to stay childless? Why did he never visit his family and friends? Did he ever interact with anyone? If he had so many inventions, how come Ichigo had never heard of him before? He had so many questions, and even though he only received answers to a few, each answer made him feel closer to the older man.

He denied it for a long time, even to himself. He refused to mess up the way things were between them. He didn't want Kisuke to get scared or weirded out. He didn't want to change the dynamic of the relationship they had. But eventually, even Ichigo couldn't miss it.

He had fallen in love with Kisuke Urahara.

Ichigo cursed himself for not seeing it beforehand. But it had been so gradual, Ichigo had no chance of recognizing the feelings for what they were. He came to cherish the moments he spent with Kisuke more and more, and found himself willing to go through thick and thin for him. When Kisuke had had a particularly bad day, Ichigo was content to simply lay next to him throughout the night. When Kisuke felt sick, Ichigo was the first to tuck him into bed and bring him a hot bowl of soup. When Kisuke was happier than usual, Ichigo felt the joy invade his very being.

And yet, Ichigo's heart was breaking, piece by minuscule piece. Every night spent with Kisuke reminded him of everything he would never have. Every kiss, every sound, every touch left him longing for more. The nights without Kisuke became a sort of torture for Ichigo. The nightmares returned with a vengeance, guilt riding along gleefully. He saw Masaki every night now, asking him why he hadn't protected her, crying out for help, berating him for being so selfish as to keep on living when he had taken her life from her. He took to staying awake as long as he could at night, reading or watching TV, until he was so exhausted he fell into a dreamless sleep. And then three hours later he was awake again, ready to go to school, or drive to work, or meet with Ishida, or do whatever his routine required. He wasted away, slowly, slowly, turning into a shell of what he had once been.

Even Kisuke noticed eventually. But when he asked, Ichigo had forced a pained smile and replied nonchalantly, "It's nothing. Don't trouble yourself." But inside, his heart had broken a little more.

And then, one day, there was nothing left to break. Ichigo gazed at Kisuke's sleeping body for several minutes, gathering the courage to take this last step. And then he was gone, nothing but a flash of orange in the moonlight. He left nothing behind save a single piece of paper, fluttering in the breeze, held in place under Kisuke's favorite striped green and white hat.

 _I can't do this anymore_ , it said.  _Please forgive me. It's just too hard._

And underneath were written three words. The handwriting was shaky, as though the hand had trembled, though whether in uncertainty or sadness or even both was anyone's guess. Three words, but no less powerful for the small quantity. Three words that must have taken all of Ichigo's being to write. Words he had only ever told one other person before.

 _I love you_.


	2. Amour Mal Compris Est L'Amour Perdu

He had only gone to the club because Yoruichi had threatened to hide all the alcohol he had if he didn't. In his eyes, he didn't need to be surrounded by drunken men and women, almost having sex on the dance floor, didn't need random people trying to hit on him, didn't need to get drunk himself. He was comfortable in his solitude, running his small shop in town, living in the quaint little apartment above it. In any case, he had enough money from all of his patents to live comfortably for the rest of his life without ever lifting a finger, if he so chose. He had his two close friends, and his two almost wards to take care of. He was happy.

Obviously, Yoruichi had different views. And since an angry Yoruichi meant an ass-kicking for whoever she was pissed at, Kisuke had complied with her demands. He had sat at the bar, performing a perfunctory scan of the club, marking off everyone he saw. Too tall, too short, too fat, too thin, too slutty, too ugly…. Sighing, he had looked to the side, ready to leave. And that was when Kisuke saw him.

Kisuke watched the orange-headed youth make his way to the dance floor. He had felt a pull towards the boy for some reason, and maybe because the alcohol had dulled his senses, he had followed this tug. He had pressed up against the boy, wrapping his arms around the boy's waist as the boy leaned back into him.

The sex was mindblowing. They had stumbled into a back room, all arms and legs and heated kisses. He had shoved the boy up against a wall and just taken him, right there, no pleasantries involved. They had eventually moved to the bed, where Kisuke had finished using the boy. They lay there for some time, sharing the post-coital bliss, but both of them knew that it was nothing but a one-night stand.

But Yoruichi had been pretty pissed at Kisuke for some reason or another that next week, and he had disappeared to the club to avoid her wrath. He had sipped his drink again, not really taking in the crowd, just wanting to waste away the night. But fate had different plans, and Kisuke had seen that flash of orange again, swaying with the rest of the crowd on the dance floor. Wasting no time, he had set down his drink and moved behind the boy again. Leaning down, he had whispered "My place" into the boy's pale ear.

He took his time that night. Their kisses were slow, gentle, almost loving in their tenderness. There had been many more caresses, much more foreplay. Both males had been brought to the brink several times before Kisuke finally entered the boy. And even then, his strokes were slow, calm, peaceful, almost torturously so. Their orgasms were no less powerful for the lack of intensity, however, and Kisuke would almost go as far as saying that night had been one of the best nights of his life. They had curled up together that night, bonded by their shared act. The boy had asked Kisuke's name, and Kisuke had seen no harm in telling him. Little did he know…. But he had. And he had learned the boy's name in return, a name that Kisuke had since come to equate with a magnificent treasure. They had fallen asleep together, and Kisuke had felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: happiness.

Maybe it was their bond that drew them together; maybe they just had a mutual understanding. Kisuke didn't care. All he knew was that Ichigo and he suddenly shared more than just a platonic relationship. They would hook up every now and then when they were at the club at the same time, and depart to Kisuke's apartment. For some reason, though, neither thought to ask for the other's contact information. While this amused Kisuke to no end, he didn't seek to change it. In fact, it just cemented his somewhat-joking label on their relationship—acquaintances with benefits. But even though he knew that such a young and virile boy as Ichigo would never love an insane old man like Kisuke, he couldn't help feeling a twinge of regret that they couldn't be something  _more_.

But then Ichigo seemed to gain a curiosity about Kisuke's life, and he dared to hope. Could Ichigo possibly…? But he quashed the hope immediately, guarding his heart against the inevitable break. He was sparse with his answers, not wanting Ichigo to possess more of Kisuke than necessary so that when Ichigo finally realized he could do so much better than Kisuke, less parts of Kisuke would be trampled upon. Because really, why would Ichigo want to love such a selfish old man? It was a stupid thought, a false hope.

But slowly, slowly, Kisuke's very heart became Ichigo's to control. Kisuke was simply the puppet, and Ichigo his master. Kisuke felt his heart fall deeper in deeper in love with this young, vibrant boy, until it nearly drowned. And no matter how much Kisuke tried to protect himself, Ichigo continued to break down all of Kisuke's carefully constructed walls, until only one remained: the fragile wall that hid Kisuke's feelings from Ichigo.

But if Kisuke's touches grew more tender, he didn't notice. If we worked a little harder to elicit those wanton moans from Ichigo's mouth, he missed it. If he began to map out all of Ichigo's pleasure points, it wasn't intentional. And in fact, he did try a little harder, caressed and kissed Ichigo a little longer, used subtle gestures more often. He slowly began to make the transition from sex partner to lover. But the shift was so gradual, neither male noticed.

And then, one day, when Kisuke woke up, Ichigo was gone. The side of the bed that Kisuke had come to regard as "Ichigo's side" was made and unwrinkled, exactly the same as it had been the night before. The only thing that attested to Ichigo's presence was the open window, curtains swaying in the breeze. And when Kisuke had gone to put on his favorite hat, the hat that Ichigo had once given him as a present, just so he could hold some piece of Ichigo with him as he processed the orange headed boy's absence, he had found a note.

 _I can'tdo this anymore_ , he read. Immediately, he recognized the handwriting as Ichigo's.  _Please forgive me. It's just too hard._

And underneath were three words that finally managed to drown Kisuke's heart in their meaning. He felt himself shatter into a million tiny pieces as he read and reread those three words a hundred times over. Three words that seemed to strike his very being, and yet managed to reflect his soul at the same time. Words he had never said to anyone. Words no one had ever said to him.

_I love you._


	3. De L'Amour, Il Faut Etre Aimé

Ichigo avoided the bar like the plague for over a month. He knew Kisuke would be there, waiting for him to return. But he couldn't just become Kisuke's sex toy again, couldn't be nothing more than a plaything. He was too far gone for that to happen.

But even though he had shut his mind off to Kisuke, his heart refused to listen. Everywhere he went, Ichigo was reminded of Kisuke. That man had the same shade of hair, that man had that same lazy demeanor, those were the flowers that Kisuke loved best, that was the ramen shop Kisuke adored. No matter how hard he tried, Ichigo couldn't  _not_  think of the older man.

The thoughts began to reflect in real life. Ichigo's grades in school began to drop as he fell deeper and deeper into depression. He began avoiding his friends as it became harder and harder to keep up his happy-go-lucky façade. He locked himself in his room for longer periods of time as Kisuke's absence became too hard to bear. Even his father, who was normally so carefree and ignorant, became worried about Ichigo's broodiness.

But Ichigo didn't tell anybody what was bothering him. Who could he tell? Orihime was in love with him, and it would only pain her to know Ichigo loved another. Rukia would offer to pound Kisuke into the dust. Chad would be extremely uncomfortable with the whole topic. Tatsuki would yell at ichigo for falling in love with another person and breaking Orihime's heart. Ishida would push his glasses up and say something about how love would stupid. Mizuiro and Keigo would drag him along to another club and tell him to pick up some random guy so that he could "get over" Kisuke. And his father wouldn't be able to stay serious long enough for Ichigo to talk to him.

So he let the love and rejection eat away at his heart. He could do little else. And even though he saw himself wasting away, he did nothing to stop. If anything, he encouraged it, because at the very least, it was a testament of his love.

But fate seemed to have a vendetta against Ichigo. For Keigo's birthday, he dragged them all along to his favorite club. In horror, Ichigo discovered that it was the same club where he had met Kisuke. He glanced furtively around, trying to spot that sandy blonde hair, and was relieved when he couldn't. Slowly, as the alcohol was forced into his system, he began to loosen up and not think so much about Kisuke. He turned an appraising eye to the floor, wanting to forget for just one night. But everybody was disappointing in some way. Too tall, too short, too muscular, not muscular enough, too thin, too fat, not the right hair color…

It wasn't until that last thought that Ichigo had realized he was silently comparing every member to Kisuke.

Despondent, Ichigo had dropped his head to the bar, no longer excited to find someone to take home with him. Nobody could compare to Kisuke; no one could help him forget. All he wanted was to get drunk and then have Ishida drive him home so he could sleep off the alcohol. After all, Keigo and the rest had already gone off to do their own things. Ichigo had ordered another drink, not really caring anymore.

But then a familiar tan hand had pushed a bill onto the table, paying for Ichigo's drink. Ichigo had stiffened as a warm body pressed to his back, familiar in its comfort. He had held his breath, fearing his nightmares were about to come true. Indeed, not a minute later, the man had grabbed Ichigo's hand and pulled him towards a back room—the back room where they had first had sex. And for some reason, Ichigo had let him.

They didn't have sex so much as they made love this time. Kisuke spent what seemed like eternity on Ichigo's face, neck, and shoulders, before spending the same amount of time on Ichigo's chest. Within minutes, Ichigo was writhing under Kisuke's ministrations, begging for release. But Kisuke simply shushed him by placing a finger to his lips and continued with his actions. Ichigo came twice without even being touched. And then Kisuke was in him, filling him, and Ichigo had never felt this good, never felt this loved, never felt so complete, and he never wanted it to end, never wanted Kisuke to stop, never wanted to leave, and it was all he could do not to scream as the most powerful orgasm he had ever felt had ripped through him that night. He flew that night, in a haze of ecstasy, and dreamed that Kisuke really did love him.

But reality hit Ichigo hard when he returned to earth. His breath left him in a whoosh as he realized what he had done. He had let Kisuke take him, had let his hopes get up again, had indulged in something that would only break his heart faster when Kisuke rejected his love. Tears stinging his eyes, he climbed off the bed and picked up his clothes, rushing to get them on. In a flash, he was at the door, furiously twisting the knob to run away from the inevitable crushing rejection.

But as he yanked the door open, Kisuke grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Maybe he saw the fear in Ichigo's arms, or maybe he sensed the tenseness in Ichigo's muscles. Ichigo didn't know. But Kisuke looked deep into Ichigo's wide, wet eyes, tenderly brushed Ichigo's cheek, and leaned down to capture Ichigo's lips in a deep, tender, lingering kiss. And despite how hard Ichigo tried to tear away, he found himself kissing back. He let Kisuke lead him back to the bed, where he once more shed his clothes and snuggled in the covers against Kisuke's broad chest.

And then Kisuke said those three words that Ichigo thought he would never hear again. Those three words that had led to this whole mess. The three words that Ichigo had pined to hear from Kisuke's lips for months now. Three words, three  _simple_  words, that carried the weight of the world behind them. Words that made Ichigo complete.

"I love you."

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were interested, here are the chapter title translations:
> 
> Ch. 1-Le Seulment Amour Est L'Amour Vrai-The Only Love is True Love  
> Ch. 2-Amour Mal Compris Est L'Amour Perdu-Love Misunderstood is Love Lost  
> Ch. 3-De L'Amour, Il Faut Etre Aime-To Love, One Must Be Loved


End file.
